


Survivors

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: AU, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Felina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walt and Jesse, ten years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SevenThirtySeven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevenThirtySeven/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Happy Blue Christmeth! :) I hope you like this!

_“No I never meant to hold you down_  
 _I never meant to break your heart_  
 _somehow, somehow_  
 _we are survivors…”_  
\- Phil Collins, “Survivors”

“You’re getting him a car?” Walter White asked slowly looked up from his newspaper. He was rubbing the corner between his fingers, watching the print rub off against his pale skin. 

Jesse Pinkman, who was lying back on the bed dressed in a full parka with no plans to get out of it anytime soon, shrugged.

“Kid needs a car.”

“He’s eighteen. Kid needs a job,” Walt replied dryly. 

“He has a job. It’s called college,” Jesse grumbled. “And you got your own son a car when he was, what, sixteen? You said so yourself.”

Walt flipped to the next page of the newspaper; the apartment ads. They’d been living in this square inch of middle of nowhere, Rhode Island, for the past ten years, and maybe it was time for a change. It wasn’t like anyone was still out looking for Heisenberg anymore. He had faded into legend and if anyone really did think that they saw him, it would probably be regarded as if they had stood in a mirror and seen him after reciting his name seven times. 

Plus, he could serve to be a little closer to the damned grocery store. Sending Jesse on runs had always been a useless endeavor.

“That’s different though. He’s my son, not an orphan I decided to play Daddy Warbucks to ten years ago.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. Over the past eleven years, he had come to the realization that half the time it was better to just not even reply to the nasty things that Mr. White, as he still had a tendency to call him, would say. Half the time now, Jesse wasn’t even sure that he believed him; rather, it seemed that he just wanted to get a rise out of Jesse as he got older and sicker but was somehow still breathing.

The younger man let out a yawn and hopped off the bed.

“Lunch. I think it’s time to make lunch.”

Walt looked up from his paper without much interest. As often as he was in and out of shorter and shorter remissions, he’d gotten into the habit of not eating very much at all. He’d slimmed down considerably and Jesse had more than once expressed concern for his health that had been brushed aside with annoyed stares and firm replies that he knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t need advice from Jesse most of all.

Jesse didn’t feel like going down that particular road again, so he simply made his way to the staircase and followed it down, heading into the kitchen. A little stand-up photo frame was propped up on the counter; Brock’s high school graduation. Thankfully in recent years the interest in tracking down Heisenberg and his associates had dwindled completely, and oftentimes as long as he didn’t get himself into trouble, Jesse could be seen most places without fear of arrest. On the whole, he avoided Albuquerque, however – too many memories, and most of them still painfully sharp in his mind. 

He had a life here, after all, in cozy-if-cold Exeter, Rhode Island. It was quiet enough that people looked out for each other, but they didn’t ask too many questions, either. Their neighbors seem to have taken the idea of a gay couple with a rather large age difference moving into their town about as well as he could have hoped for, and no one had said anything if they suspected who Mr. White really was. 

Just as well. On some days even Jesse wasn’t sure where Mr. White ended and Heisenberg began, whether Heisenberg had died that day at the lab or whether he was lurking beneath the surface ready to slide out and strike when the opportunity presented itself.

He took his chances.

Jesse left the steak to thaw out on the kitchen table and made his way back towards the living room, stopping to open the door to the porch to see if the mail had come for the day.

It had.

He sorted through four bills, one electric and three medical, and set them aside to pay later – not that they could even shut off the electric in the middle of the winter up here without someone freezing to death and laying a wrongful death suit on the power company, at least from what he’d heard. After that was a magazine, and a postcard from Brock detailing his recent adventure in the mountains of Montana, not far from where he was attending college in Minneapolis. He set it on the table with a smile; he’d hang it up.

Lastly, there was a blue envelope addressed to Mr. White (under his assumed name), care of the town without a street address. Jesse wondered at it. He shouldn’t snoop into Mr. White’s mail, of course, but he couldn’t remember the man getting personal mail since he had arrived here ten years ago. 

Jesse ripped it open. 

A professional photo fell out of a little girl with curly blonde pigtails, a pudgy face and a big smile. He knew in an instant that it had to be Holly, Mr. White’s daughter. He gently set it aside and pulled out the stiff card behind it.

It read, in fancy print:

_You are invited to be a part of the special day of Flynn Belmont and Libecca Wahling._

Before he could read further, a hand was looping over his shoulder to take the card out of his hand. 

“Some things never change, I guess,” Walt snarled. “Nosy little rat.”

Jesse looked up with a flash of fear in his eyes for just a moment, until he remembered that the man standing before him was hardly the Heisenberg of old. Rather, he was all the bits and pieces left over after Heisenberg had gotten up and walked away, leaving some Walt, Walter and Mr. White in varying degrees of dismemberment on the floor.

“Belmont?” Jesse inquired instead, cocking his head to the side.

Walt let out a puff of air.

“Douglas Belmont. Skyler’s new husband. Adopted the kids,” he began with a dramatic wave of his arm, “Saved them from the notoriety of my name.”

Jesse shrugged.

“Decent guy?” he inquired, “I mean as far as most people know, you’re dead. Can you really blame her?”

The air seemed to all go out of Walt at the question.

“Yeah. I looked into him. He seems like a decent guy. He’s a florist.” 

“Okay, so…” Jesse prodded. “You going to this, then?”

Walt glared back at him.

“You just stated the obvious. I’m dead. On the run. Don’t exist. A phantom and a mystery. Not like he would want me there anyway.”

Jesse rubbed at his face.

“I didn’t ask about him. Do you want to go to this? I mean, it’s your son’s wedding. And your daughter will be there. We could go all incognito. No one even knows what you look like anymore – it’s been ten years.” He reached down and handed Walt the photo as well. “I mean… this is your little girl, right here. When you left she was a baby.”

“And who only knows what she’s heard about me? If she even knows I exist.” Walt shook his head and placed both the invitation and the photograph back down on the table. “No, Jesse, I appreciate the thought… but the last thing any of them need is an appearance from me.” He paused and then mused, “What in the world kind of name is ‘Libecca’, anyway?”

Jesse shrugged.

“Guess her parents couldn’t decide between Lindsey and Rebecca, or something,” he suggested. “Hey, let’s go ahead and eat, okay?” He gave Walt a sad smile and took his arm.

***

Jesse shivered. It was a chilly night, even with the heat on, and he wrapped himself in his blanket as best he could before scooping up the book on the nightstand. It was Lord of the Flies – a couple of years ago, Jesse had decided to embark on a small reading quest, designed for him to read all of the books he had been meant to read in high school but had never actually bothered to open.

He was reading about the building of huts on a hill when Walt slipped into bed beside him. 

“Jesse,” he whispered. He was older now; as old as Mike had been, but Jesse tried not to think of Mike much these days. He had relegated him to a distant, if revered, memory. 

“Hey, Mr. White,” Jesse whispered back. He put the bookmark in the book, the book on the nightstand and switched off the lamp before reaching down to take Walt’s cold hand in his. He squeezed it. Then he slowly turned in the older man’s direction and bowed his head to let his nose drag along Walt’s neck, coming up to press their lips together ever so slightly.

He imagined himself breathing into the older man, keeping him going – he seemed invincible, somehow, even with cancer and bullet wounds and everything that had happened for so very many years, he was still here and still somehow in Jesse’s arms. Jesse hoped that that was where he wanted to be, for it was where Jesse needed to be.

Jesse let his hands drift down to Walt’s pants, big on him these days, and gently undid the string. He let out a gasp of want where the older man took that as a cue to buck his hips and grind against Jesse. He was hard. It seemed like on these cold nights he always was. 

“I love you,” he told him, breathless, and started to pull off his own pants as well. Then everything was slick as he rolled on top of Walt, kissing down his button-down shirt before unbuttoning it and tossing it off the edge of the bed, then kissing down his bare chest just the same.

Walt didn’t respond verbally, but he tightened his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, keeping him close and not letting him go, even as Jesse thought to himself that there wasn’t anywhere he would rather be.

Jesse’s eyes followed Walt’s hands, as they moved over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and taking out the lube. In one swift motion it was in his hand, then opened, then sliding all over his hand and his hand over his cock. They had done this for so long now that the old one-finger-two process that they had used at first, back after Jesse’s escape, when he’d been so very tense under Walt’s touch, was no longer necessary. 

The younger man slid into position, maneuvering himself on to Walt’s cock and letting out a pleased gasp as he entered. The older man’s hands were all over him, making him feel claimed in the best way. Like the two were always and would always be connected. All debts repaid. 

He wrapped the blanket around them both, shivering but feeling warm just the same. Everything was good, everything was right, as Walt thrust in and out, letting out gasps and groans that seemed to cut off midway, the only symptom that something was still lurking beneath the surface and threatening to take Walt away from Jesse one day. Jesse, as he did each night, shook his head to clear it, to ignore all of those thoughts and focus only on how Walt filled him so right. 

He cupped his own cock in his hands, rubbing it. Sometimes Walt did this too; but tonight his hands were set on Jesse’s stomach, thumbs gliding over the old scars from the compound, from Tuco, from Hank. The scars that would never quite fade but were no longer parts of each one of Jesse’s nightmares. Now, so long later, he dreamt instead of the snow-covered Rhode Island roadways and the birds he saw walking through the park.

They came at once, or at least close to it, and Jesse stayed, slumped in Walt’s arms, feeling peaceful if also sticky. This was a quiet night, a good night.

Walt made murmurs of getting clean up and slowly pulled out and detached himself from Jesse. The younger man rolled over, telling himself he needed to turn up the heat, even if the chill was just a result of now longer being curled up against the other man. 

He curled into a sitting position and looked at him.

“You’re going to that wedding, aren’t you?” he asked, quietly.

Walt walked past him, towards the bathroom.

“I’m coming with you.” Jesse stood up and shuffled towards the thermostat. “Otherwise, you’ll get yourself in trouble.” He leaned in to kiss Walt’s cheek. “Plus, I want to see what kind of a person names their kid Libecca.”


End file.
